


Kissing a Fool

by unkissed



Series: Drabble Challenge [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Smut, Non-Explicit Sex, drabble challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you’re in a relationship with James Sirius Potter, on any given day, you can’t expect that what comes out of his mouth won’t sting.  Teddy Lupin is particularly not immune to his razor sharp wit on the first of April.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing a Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts from Draco_Amante: April Fools, Cars, Lake
> 
> Thank you to Draco_Amante and Colorfulstabwound for friendship, inspiration, and PROMPTS!
> 
> For James, who is so fucking sexy when he's arrogant.

I keep waiting for the punch line that is anything but funny. _April fools._   On the first of April, who can really trust the validity of what anyone says? As a Hogwarts professor, you expect to be the victim of pranks and predictable, humorless jokes – I think I have it particularly bad, since I’m the least tenured teacher.

 

But this year, I don’t have to be on constant alert. I don’t have to be particularly vigilant for anything sharp or sticky before sitting in a chair. I don’t have to open the drawers of my desk slowly or be weary of receiving benign-looking packages.

 

That’s because, _thank Merlin_ , April Fools Day falls on a Saturday this year.  But just because I can spend this day of tricks and gags away from Hogwarts castle, doesn’t mean I’m safe.  When you’re in a relationship with James Sirius Potter, on any given day, you can’t expect that what comes out of his mouth won’t sting. But really, Jamie’s been giving me a hard time, regardless of the day, since we were kids. I am particularly not immune to his razor sharp wit on the first of April.

 

Jamie is home from spring training with Puddlemere United – the first long stretch of time off since Christmas.  He’s here until we make the obligatory appearance at the Weasley-Potter Easter extravaganza, and then he’s back to the rigors of professional Quidditch.

 

I still can’t get used to this – waking up with Jamie in _our_ bed, in _our_ house. Even though we moved into our cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade two years ago, it still doesn’t feel real. We’re rarely ever here, and even more rarely here _together_.

 

So when I wake up to the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck, and the weight of his very solid body enfolding me, I have to make sure that I’m not dreaming – that this isn’t a cosmic April Fools joke of epic proportions.  In those first moments of consciousness, I have to shake the feeling of urgency to separate that still lingers from the days when he was a student sneaking into his Transfiguration professor’s private chambers at night.  I have to remind myself that he’s mine, and he’s not sleeping with me behind his boyfriend’s back.

 

Today, I need very little self-assurance, for Jamie is doing a brilliant job of reminding me that our domestic bliss is entirely real.

 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” he whispers behind my ear before pressing a kiss to my neck.

 

I stretch like a feline and the ache in my muscles immediately reminds me of the fun we had last night after I’d come home from Hogwarts castle – I’m not as agile as I could be, apparently. I turn in Jamie’s arms to find that he’s already dressed – at least from the waist down, though his athletic shorts hide very little.

 

“Rise and shine, indeed,” I remark with a tired, gravelly drawl as my eyes are drawn to his lap, “How long have you been up?” The wry grin I tack on to the end of the inquiry hints, not subtly, upon innuendo.

 

“I woke up at six,” he says, nestling himself against me, “I just can’t sleep in anymore, even when I’m on leave from quidditch. Force of habit.”

 

“You can’t blame quidditch for waking up like _this_.” I reach down between us and gently let him know I’m aware of the tent in his shorts.

 

He presses himself into my palm. “No, I blame that entirely on you.”

 

When he kisses me, I taste vanilla protein shake on his mouth and I feel slightly disappointed that he’s already had breakfast without me. But that disappointment quickly dissolves.

 

“Don’t get too worked-up, old man,” he mumbles against my lips between slow, soft kisses, “I’ve got our eggs Benedict on the kitchen table. And unlike me, they won’t stay hot forever.”

 

I respond with a sarcastic little snort, though fondly so, “I know what day it is, arsehole. You’re not getting me out of bed for a bowl of soggy, cold cereal.”

 

Jamie dramatically feigns being wounded.  “Is it entirely implausible that I’d make your favorite breakfast?”

 

I pretend to think about it, and then nod emphatically.

 

He relents and admits, “I may have had it delivered from the Hogshead Inn, but it’s really on the table, waiting for us, getting cold.”

 

Breakfast is indeed laid out beautifully on our barely used kitchen table, complete with a little vase of tulips and cups of steaming coffee. I still check the seat cushion before sitting down and I’m tempted to cast a revealing charm to see if the lovely spread is not what it seems.

 

“What’s the occasion?” I ask, raising a suspicious brow as I inspect the contents of the juice glass.

 

“It’s your birthday month,” Jamie replies, digging in to his eggs enthusiastically.  “I know you’re not keen on birthdays, but this year is going to be a big one and I’m still not sure if I can come home for it.”

 

Even though I am fairly confident that my eggs are legitimately eggs, I only faintly poke at them, pouting slightly.  “Gods, I can’t believe I’m turning thirty,” I sigh.

 

“I know, right?” Jamie agrees around a mouthful of breakfast. “You’ve got so much more grey hair than the last time I saw you, you’d think you were turning forty!”

 

I huff and ruffle up my hair with frustration, transforming the stress-related dull tones to a more vibrant turquoise hue, if only temporarily.

 

Jamie laughs amusedly at my struggle to keep my hair from involuntarily metamorphosing.  “April Fools, Teddy. I’m just taking the piss out of you. You’re quite fit for an old guy.”

 

I pick up the parsley garnishing my plate and playfully throw it at him.  “You’re lucky that I love you.”

 

I am about to have a bite of egg when an owl taps on the window above the kitchen sink.  For a moment, I worry that my students’ April Fools jokes are finding their way to my house, but I recognize the owl to be Albus’.  The letter that it carries is addressed to both of us, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

_James S. Potter & Teddy Lupin_

_Cottage-Upon-The-Hill_

_Hogsmeade_

_Scotland_

We exchange a silent glance and a smile, and we know that we’ve just shared a moment, though nothing needs to be said about it. It’s the first post we’ve ever received which acknowledges that Jamie and I are together, and that this house is ours.

 

“Eat your breakfast, baby.  I’ll read it,” Jamie insists, making up for all his old-man jibes with a simple term of endearment and a bit of thoughtful courtesy.

 

 

_Dear Jamie and Teddy,_

_Hope this letter finds you well.  I wasn’t sure if you would both be home to receive this, but I figured it was better to send it to your house, rather than making my owl try to find one of you in Hogwarts or Dorset._

_Two things. First, my husband and I (writing that never gets old!) won’t be at Easter this year.  I’m not on tour or anything.  I’m actually going to New York with Scor that weekend. He’s doing a photo shoot for this online menswear catalogue.  It’s a pretty big deal, actually.  His modeling career is finally starting to pick up steam!  Anyway, happy Easter and joyous Vernal Equinox and all that!_

_Second, we’re going to spend a couple of weeks on holiday in the states since we have to go there anyway.  Which means I won’t be around for your birthday, Teddy.  I know you’re turning the big three-oh!  I promise we’ll celebrate when I get back to the UK._

_I’ve attached a page from a muggle magazine.  It’s got a full-page advert with Scor on it.  I bought like a hundred copies of the magazine and I figured you might like to see it.  Yeah, I’m showing off. What can I say? I’m a fucking rock star married to a sexy model!  Hah!_

_You guys should visit me and Scor when you get the chance.  We’ve changed a lot of the décor at Malfoy Manor since you were last here.  Not sure Scor’s dad is too keen on the changes, but I think the place looks fucking gorgeous. We installed a swim-up Tiki bar and water slide on the lake, which should be bloody brilliant come summertime._

_Miss you lots! Well, one of you, at least. I’m sure you can figure out which one._

_Love,_

_Albie_

Jamie unrolls the glossy magazine page and we both immediately start laughing our arses off.  It is an advert for a luxury car.  Scorpius is dressed sharply in a black suit, standing next to the gleaming silver car, striking a very affected pose, with a girl wearing a very small cocktail dress. He barely resembles the gangly, goofy kid that I remember.  All of his quintessentially Malfoy features are exaggerated with the use of muggle photographic magic.  He just looks so pretentious and forcibly stylish that Jamie and I can’t help but find it humorous.

 

“Merlin’s tits; is this an April Fools joke?” Jamie remarks, still laughing, “Blondie looks entirely too hetero.”

 

I study the photo more critically and point out, “Bloody hell, he looks _exactly_ like his dad. Down to the designer suit and everything.”

 

“You think he’s hot.  Don’t you. Fucking pervert.” Jamie is still laughing.

 

“I do not!” I flick another piece of garnish at him and giggle, though I’m blushing and the tips of my hair are tinged with the color of embarrassment.

 

Jamie moves from his seat and transplants himself onto my lap, straddling me in my chair.  He rests his arms on my shoulders and changes the timbre of his voice in a way that makes me shiver pleasantly.  “Is that what Draco Malfoy looked like when you fucked him?”  I know he’s not upset.  If he were, he wouldn’t be faintly grinding on my lap.

 

I roll my eyes, though I blush even harder.  “That was ages ago.  I don’t remember.  I was seventeen or something.  And besides, I didn’t fuck him.”

 

Jamie raises an eyebrow.  “That’s not what you told me.”

 

“I told you I had a threesome with Draco and Theodore, but I technically did not fuck Draco,” I point out clinically.

 

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

 

I sigh heavily and tip my head back.  “You seriously want to know?”

 

Jamie moves his arms from my shoulders and leans back on the table. “No secrets, no lies. You promised when we moved in together.” It was a policy that we adopted not long ago – a policy of transparency that has worked for us so far.

 

I purse my lips, reluctant to share the dirty details of the threesome I had with two older gentlemen I’d met at a muggle gay club, unaware that I’d gone home with my mother’s first cousin.  I slump my shoulders with a resigned huff. “Fine.  They both fucked me,” I admit flatly and add, just as plainly, “At the same time.  Double penetration.”

 

Jamie’s jaw drops, scandalized, and apparently offended. “You little slut! You let two blokes fuck you at the same time?  I can’t believe you! You almost never bottom for me because you say I’m too much for you to handle.  Meanwhile, you took two dicks in the same hole? Please tell me this is an April Fools joke.”

 

I keep a straight face for a good ten seconds before I break down into giggles.  “Yeah. I’m totally yanking your chain. Theodore Nott fucked the hell out of me while I sucked off his boyfriend.  Do you hate me now?”

 

Jamie shrugs, seemingly unaffected.  “Do I hate you now? No.  Do I feel like fucking the hell out of you right now? Yes.”

 

“April Fools?” I ask meekly.

 

Jamie shakes his head slowly, his eyes gleaming darkly, his lips curving into a deviant little smirk.   “Get your arse back to bed.  You’re going to learn how to handle every inch of me and love it.”

 

 

It’s not often that we switch roles. But when we do, Jamie is unhurried and gentle and whispers words of loving encouragement as he progresses deeper and deeper inside of me.  He rewards me with wet, reverent kisses and fond reassurance with each depth he conquers.

 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmur’s against the back of my shoulder. 

 

He makes me unravel just with the sound of his sultry voice.  And every time he calls me _baby_ , he dissolves time and renders our age difference irrelevant.  The burn is slow and sweet and so fucking good as it wells up from within.

 

When I think I can’t take anymore, my moans express something between adulation and agony.  “Fucking hell, Jamie.  Are you all the way in yet?”

 

Jamie chuckles softly and peppers doting kisses along my spine.  He answers, a bit too patronizingly for my liking, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re so cute. I’ve only got the head in.”

 

I curl my fingers into the pillow with a white-knuckle grip and whine, horrified, “Are you fucking joking?”

 

“April Fools,” he says melodically.

 

I laugh breathlessly.  “I guess I deserved that.”

 

“I knew your virgin arse wasn’t double fucked. You didn’t fool me for a second,” he claims arrogantly, and continues to tease me, “And I know that photo of Blondie looking like his daddy got you all hot and bothered.”

 

I glance back at him over my shoulder with a pointed expression.  “Just shut up and fuck me, you fool.”

 

 

 


End file.
